Porco verdict ended detective's trial

BRENDAN J. LYONS Senior writer

Published 1:00 am, Monday, August 21, 2006

BETHLEHEM -- Chris Bowdish looked at ease. Rested. He was standing in his small department's squad room, next to the table where nearly two years ago he'd spent six hours interrogating Christopher Porco about an ax murder this suburban town won't soon forget.

Bowdish was recounting some details of that night, about the young man who never seemed in a hurry to leave, and who'd been inexplicably concerned about whether his gravely wounded mother could still speak. Porco had even goaded the detectives around him, poking fun at their inexperience and scoffing at their assertion he was a killer.

"At one point I asked him if he needed to cry, and he said 'I'll do that later,' " Bowdish recalled. "He was calm, and I thought it was unusual."

Bowdish spoke a week after an Orange County jury convicted Porco on Aug. 10 of murdering his father and attempting to murder his mother.

Indeed, it was a case that would make or break the 44-member department, which had undergone the most intensive scrutiny in its history as a result of what one lawyer who followed the case called "a domestic murder case on steroids."

"You have an awful different perspective after you go through something like this," said Chief Louis G. Corsi. "The feeling in the community is, 'good job.' Finally, after all the bad times and the things that were said about us, people understand ... this whole thing was about finding the truth."

Bowdish, 53, who assumed the role of lead detective in the investigation, said it's unclear what the outcome may have been had Joan Porco died in the brutal attack at the hands of her deeply troubled younger son. Police had zeroed in on Christopher Porco almost immediately, after Joan Porco used nods and hand signals to tell Bowdish who had done it.

By midnight on Nov. 15, 2004, about 13 hours after Peter and Joan Porco were found bludgeoned in their Delmar home, two detectives from Bethlehem were knocking on the doors of Christopher Porco's fraternity at the University of Rochester. None of the brothers recalled seeing him the night before, and Porco's claim that he'd spent the night in his dorm lounge quickly unraveled.

Back at Bethlehem police headquarters, Bowdish and Detective Charles Rudolph sat face-to-face with Porco, pressing him about his movements the night before and stunned by his cold demeanor.

"Here's a man that had just had his father savagely killed ... and he seemed to be unemotional the whole time," Bowdish said. "A normal person would be absolutely beside themselves."

Within days, the small police force, which had investigated only two homicides in two decades, found itself in the cross hairs of Porco's newly hired attorney, Terence L. Kindlon. He criticized what he later termed their "rush to judgment," questioning the department's experience and blasting their failure to immediately enlist the aid of State Police criminal investigators.

Kindlon also contacted Bowdish, who had tried to arrange for Porco to take a polygraph exam, and told the detective that there would be no further contact with his client unless he approved it.

Still, there was much more to the case than Joan Porco's nod, which Kindlon said will serve as grounds for an appeal of the conviction, even though jurors told the Times Union they largely dismissed its significance.

"That first week, every time we had another piece of information that came in, it indicated Chris Porco's involvement," Bowdish said.

Eventually, and as more State Police investigators joined the case, they began assembling the key evidence that would ultimately convict Porco: surveillance films showing him departing campus; eyewitness accounts from Thruway toll collectors; a neighbor's claim he saw Porco's Jeep in the driveway at the time of the murder; and computer records from the couple's alarm system showing it had been deactivated by someone who knew the private code.

There were other factors any capable investigator couldn't ignore, including that the break-in appeared to be staged and nothing was stolen.

"The method in which the attack was committed gave us mounds" of information, Bowdish said. "There was tremendous hate there. ... It didn't look like a burglary. It looked like someone who was known to the residents had been there. At this point, I'm thinking this was our suspect."

On Nov. 17, 2004, two days after the murder, Bethlehem police wanted to arrest Porco, believing they had enough evidence to implicate him in the crime, including an alibi statement that was fabricated.

News crews swarmed the department that night, but then-Albany County District Attorney Paul A. Clyne arrived at the station house and met with the police, telling them it was too soon and more investigation was needed.

It frustrated the investigators, who had been studying Porco at the hospital where his mother was being treated. There, also, Porco seemed relaxed and unemotional, and passed his time reading horror novels while defending himself to family and friends about his emergence as a suspect.

"The public were scared. They wanted answers," Bowdish said. "I had pressure coming at me from all angles."

At Porco's trial, Kindlon and his partner, Laurie Shanks, built part of their strategy around trying to pick apart the job done by police. They suggested the murder may have been retribution against Peter Porco's great uncle, a member of the New York-based Bonnano crime family, or a deranged litigant who'd dealt with Peter Porco while he worked in Family Court years ago.

Eventually, investigators examined those leads, dismissing them as unfounded.

"In hindsight now, I felt that Paul Clyne made a good call," Bowdish said.

But as weeks turned into months, and the murder remained at the forefront of public interest, some people in the community began to question whether anyone would be held responsible, and if police had botched the case.

The investigation transformed from a routine homicide case into a top priority for police and prosecutors. It was fueled, in part, by the heinous nature of the attack and the fact Peter Porco was a law clerk for Appellate Division Justice Anthony V. Cardona.

In late 2004, Bethlehem's police were largely denied time off and required to work double-time on most days. Patrol officers were enlisted to perform investigative work, and soon the entire operation became computerized and streamlined.

State Police dedicated an area to the Porco case at their top-secret counterterrorism center in Latham; the Bethlehem police set up their own Porco room at Town Hall; and newly elected District Attorney David Soares assigned Assistant District Attorney David M. Rossi exclusively to the investigation. Soares also designated a special room at his office to the Porco case.

"We were running in 505 different directions," said Corsi, who was appointed chief of police in April 2003. "We were here day and night. Guys didn't even leave to go eat. Not only did the agency feel this, their families did, too."

Along the way, two detectives, Sgt. John Cox and Anthony Arduini, died premature and unexpected deaths. In a department with only four detectives, the losses stung an already-reeling force that was unsettled by an anxious public, and under heavy criticism from Porco's supporters and attorneys.

"I was angered," Corsi said. "I felt upset but I knew we had to get it done."

While Corsi felt Porco's attorneys made some allegations against the department that crossed a line, including an accusation they may have planted evidence, he acknowledged that Kindlon is a sharp attorney who had a job to do and "his game face on."

After the jury announced its verdict convicting Porco, Corsi walked across the small courtroom and shook Kindlon's hand.

Back home, days after the verdict, passersby occasionally blow their horns as they drive along Delaware Avenue near the police station. Some people, even while being ticketed, have congratulated the department's rank and file for their efforts.

On the first night Porco spent in jail as a convicted murderer, Bowdish went home secure in the fact the town's nearly 35,000 residents were relieved an ax murderer had been snatched from their midst and put away.

"I put my head on the pillow and I felt comfortable and relaxed," Bowdish said. "It was done."

Brendan J. Lyons can be reached at 454-5547 or by e-mail at blyons@timesunion.com.